


A Fundamental Ingredient

by stellanti_nocte



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Complete, Creature Fic, Dementor, M/M, Pre - Order of the Phoenix, Veela, Veela Fest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-02
Updated: 2012-07-02
Packaged: 2017-11-09 01:30:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellanti_nocte/pseuds/stellanti_nocte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Voldemort, always in search of immortality, uses a ritual to transform himself into an immortal hybrid creature. However, one of the two creatures is a Veela and requires a mate. Voldemort decides that Bellatrix would be adequate for the position of his mate and sends a Death Eater to retrieve one of her hairs to complete the ritual. Unfortunately, his incompetent follower has accidentally gotten the wrong hair and the Dark Lord soon finds himself mated to Harry Potter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fundamental Ingredient

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2012 Valentine Veela Fest at Do Me Veela on LJ.

**Pairing:** Voldemort/Harry  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Word Count:** 16, 014  
 **Warning(s):** underage sexual situations (Harry is fifteen)  
 **Betas:** niteshine and 13alias31  
 **Disclaimer:** This piece of art or fiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made, no copyright or trademark infringement, or offence is intended. 

 

The pain was indescribable as Voldemort fought to stay still and kneeling in the center of the ritual circle. He refused to collapse to the ground and writhe in pain like a lesser man than he was. Instead, he focused his mind on the steps he had taken to complete the ritual and made sure that he’d done everything correctly. 

It was not difficult to memorize the process since Voldemort had created the ritual himself. His search for immortality had led him to attempt—and he would most certainly succeed—something that most wizards were too cowardly to risk their lives and blood purity for. Fortunately, the Dark Lord was no stranger to rituals that were peril to his life, nor was he worried about his blood. It had been tainted since conception and something he was no longer trying to purify in vain. He had accepted that he was, and would be forever, a half-blood. 

Of course, that didn’t mean he was going to broadcast this fact around the world. Many of his followers assumed that he was a pureblood and far be it from him to destroy that little misconception. 

As for the ritual, he was transforming his body into a mixture of two magical creatures: Dementor and Veela. Indeed, it was quite an odd combination. Dementors were immortal beings that inspired fear in others and fed off of happy feelings. Contrarily, Veela were a race of semi-human, semi-magical hominids that were magically seductive in appearance. 

Voldemort had found the Dementor to be nearly perfect for him. He wanted immortality; inspiring fear in his enemies (and allies) was a plus; and his enemies had plenty of mushy, happy feelings that would give him strength while fighting. The only problem that he had foreseen was that the Dementor blood would suck out his soul—what little was left of it—and effectively leave him soulless like all others of its kind. It would be equal to receiving the Kiss, something Voldemort was not eager to experience. 

That was where the Veela came into play. After months of tedious research, Voldemort had concluded that the only way to keep his soul safely locked in his body, and not sitting in some Dementor, was to gain a mate. There were very few creatures that had mates, and Veela was the only one that wouldn’t react poorly with the Dementor blood. The two creature’s genotypes were, oddly, similar enough that they would not fight against each other but rather meld together to form a hybrid. 

Admittedly, Voldemort was curious to know what the hybrid between a hideous Dementor and a gorgeous Veela would look like. It was sure to prove interesting. 

The ritual that Voldemort had created required a potion to help with the transformation. He had made Severus create a potion that contained blood from a Veela, willingly given, and blood from a Dementor, also willingly given. The Dementor’s blood was easy to obtain now that they fought for the Dark Side, but the Veela blood had been considerably more difficult. Since most Veela were not stupid enough to freely give their blood to a known Dark Lord, nor were they inclined to mar their perfect skin with a cut. 

Fortunately, Voldemort had Inner Circle Death Eaters for that. Those Death Eaters had earned their place in the highest rank and were more than capable of _persuading_ a Veela to give their blood. 

The other main ingredient was a hair from the person that he intended to be his mate. While Veela normally did not get to choose their mate, Voldemort was not going to end up bound to some random witch. To avoid this issue, he had added a special feature to the potion that would allow him to choose his mate by adding that person’s hair. Naturally, he chose Bellatrix; she was easily accessible, fought for his cause, and would be easy to control. 

Once the ingredients were gathered and the potion was made, the ritual was immediately put into action. Voldemort had expected pain, he was transforming his body into an immortal hybrid after all, but this…this was different. Something else was at work here, and he had a sinking feeling that he knew what it was. 

His horcruxes were being nullified and his split soul was sewing itself back together. 

It was probably the work of the Veela blood. He couldn’t have a mate if he didn’t have a complete soul. At least, that’s what Voldemort decided was the most logical answer. It certainly wasn’t the Dementor’s blood that was putting his soul back together. 

He just hoped that the ritual worked, or else he would be stuck with a complete soul in a mortal body with no way of anchoring himself to earth if he were to die. All of his work would be for nothing. Voldemort gritted his teeth and fiercely cut down that thought. He was the Dark Lord; he _did not fail_! This ritual would succeed and he would finally be immortal. 

After countless, agonizing minutes, the pain faded and Lord Voldemort stood slowly, gliding toward a nearby mirror to examine the changes. 

He was even taller than before, something that he’d gained from the Dementor. Those eerie creatures were rather large, almost ten feet tall, and it seemed to have affected his transformation. The most noticeable difference was that he had lost the reptilian features that were a result of his rebirth last year and now appeared to be in his prime. Voldemort smirked as he realized that he seemed to be one of those men that grew more handsome as he aged. What a pity. If he’d known this he would have tried harder to maintain his appearance in the past—

That was definitely the Veela talking. 

Voldemort could not care less about his appearance. While he had enjoyed watching those fools fall over themselves to stand near him when he was a student, it was equally entertaining to watch his Death Eaters quail at the sight of him. His new look could be useful, though. Perhaps it would help him to draw in more followers with his allure and Veela thrall. Then he could frighten them into submission with his cold Dementor-like presence. 

A sinister smile stretched the towering man’s full lips. Yes, this was the best choice for a hybrid creature. 

After a few more moments of admiring himself in the mirror, something that was most certainly an effect of the Veela blood now pumping through his veins, Voldemort pulled out his wand. He twirled the slender stick of Yew in his long skeletal fingers and contemplated his next course of action. With a grimace, he supposed that it was time to summon his mate.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Bellatrix lounged on the dark red chaise in the informal sitting room of Lestrange Manor. Her husband, Rodolphus Lestrange, sat in the chair on the opposite side of the room near the only window, reading a large dusty book. She smirked in his direction and shifted so that her dress skirt rode up to reveal her crossed legs. The stern man across the room didn’t spare her a glance.

With a scowl, the wild-haired woman slouched forward—as much as one could slouch in a corset—and rested her forearms on her knees in a way that she knew made her chest appear to nearly pop out from the top of her dress. That is, if one could call the black torn-up gown and corset a “dress”. 

It was Bellatrix’s favorite. The dress went perfectly with her spike-heeled black boots and complemented her wild curls. She especially liked to wear it when she visited her Lord. Unfortunately, the stunningly powerful wizard had more important things on his mind, which left Bellatrix to tease her husband instead. 

If only the stoic man would react. 

With a seductive sway to her hips, Bellatrix sauntered over to Rodolphus. The man paid her no attention, merely turned the page in his dilapidated book. The dark-haired woman glowered at him before she suddenly smiled sweetly and trailed a finger gently down his jawline. Rodolphus sighed and looked up at his wife with a blank expression.

“Bella, I am not interested. Leave me alone to read,” he commanded, the only evidence in his monotonous voice that he had any fond feelings for her being the use of her nickname “Bella”. 

Bellatrix blew a stray curl out of her eyes and stormed out of the room, pissed that she couldn’t get any entertainment lately. Well, there had been that battle with the Order of the Fried Chicken last week…

She’d even gotten to play with ickle-Potty! She had to admit that the brat had improved his dueling skills. Rather than anger her, though, this fact excited her; there was nothing better than fighting against a formidable opponent. And the look in his eyes…simply brilliant! Bellatrix had managed to get a few shots on her insufferable _cousin_ , Sirius, and had almost rid the earth of his horrid muggle-loving existence. Apparently, that didn’t sit too well with ickle-Potty, and the boy had come at her spitting mad. 

It had truly been a thrill to watch his eyes practically glow with fury and his face contort into a grimace of pain and rage. It made Bellatrix want to know what he would have done had she succeeded in killing Sirius. To know that she could cause such a violent reaction within her enemy was flattering. 

The duel that ensued between the two of them was intense, to say the least. Several members of both sides had paused their own battles to watch the fierce warriors clash. Unfortunately, it had ended when Bellatrix had gotten close enough to Potter to dig her fingers into his hair and rip out a large handful of the messy tresses. The boy had howled in pain and clutched at the bald bleeding area. He would have launched himself at Bellatrix again, but several Order members had interfered and dragged him away. The rest of the battle ended shortly after that, with the Order of the Fried Chicken fleeing like the cowardly weasels they were. 

Just thinking about it left her with an insane high and a craving to torture the Golden Boy. 

A sharp pain in her left forearm wiped all thoughts of Potter from her mind. Her Lord was summoning her! Giddy smile stretching her lips and spring in her step, Bellatrix walked outside to the Manor gates and out of the anti-apparition ward.

_______________________________________________________________________________

“Bellatrix.”

The dark voice sent shivers down her spine as she straightened from her landing crouch. She turned toward the smooth voice and prepared to curtsey low in reverence. The man standing a few feet from her was definitely not her Lord, though, causing Bellatrix to summon her wand to her fingers. However, before she could point it at the stranger, a familiar aura teased her senses. Her wand arm dropped in astonishment.

“My Lord…?” 

“Indeed, Bellatrix,” Voldemort murmured with detached amusement. He had researched the effect a mate would have on him before deciding to perform the ritual in order to assure him that he would not become some mindless fool pining for his “love”. Thus, Voldemort had expected to feel, well… _something_ for the woman standing before him. However, he only felt the same vague annoyance at her obvious attraction to him. Perhaps, because he had consciously chosen her as his mate, he did not need those _feelings_ in order to indicate his connection to her? 

Voldemort glanced back at Bellatrix and noted with some alarm that she was practically drooling over him. Her eyes were in the process of looking him over from head to toe and had taken on a hungry glint the further down she looked. 

“Bellatrix,” Voldemort began imperiously, prepared to explain the situation to her, when the former Black interrupted him.

“I’m the best dueler in the world!” she blurted out. Voldemort stared blankly at her and she seemed to come back to herself. Bellatrix blushed a rather unbecoming shade of red as she realized that she had _bragged_ to the Dark Lord.

“M-my Lord, I meant—” before she could finish her sentence, Voldemort whipped out his wand and pressed it to her dark mark. Moments later, a scraggily man appeared next to the two. 

“Reddendum,” Voldemort hissed menacingly, “you were ordered to retrieved a strand of Bellatrix’s hair, were you not?” 

“Y-yes, M-my Lord,” the man whispered fearfully. Bellatrix sneered at his trembling form before dismissing him completely in favor of staring at the Dark Lord. His new body was gorgeous, and when coupled with his extraordinary power… 

“Then why, pray tell, does it appear that you did not complete the simple task correctly?” Voldemort all but spat at his incompetent follower. That little bragging scene from Bellatrix was a natural reaction from anyone who was in the presence of a Veela’s allure. 

Anyone except the Veela’s mate. 

If Bellatrix was being affected by his allure, then the hair that had been added to the potion had not been hers. Voldemort reached out and snagged Reddendum’s hair, yanking his head back so that he could look the pathetic man in the eyes. Someone was going to pay for this mistake. 

“I gave you her hair, My Lord! I swear it!” Robert shouted desperately. “She even handed it to me herself!” Bellatrix snapped back to the conversation and snarled at the groveling fool. How dare he anger her Lord like this! 

“I did no such thing!” she shouted indignantly. 

“But—but you did!” Robert argued back and launched into a description of the day that he’d been given the task. 

_Robert Reddendum was a very self-preservative man. He did not like to put himself into harms way and had no qualms running away like the coward he was. So, Robert was understandably terrified when his Lord suddenly demanded that he hunt down Bellatrix Lestrange and retrieve a hair, with the root still attached, from her head. Quivering with fear, the hunched over, gangly man shuffled down the dark corridors of Malfoy Manor. How was he supposed to get one of her hairs? The woman would bite his head off—literally—if he were to simply walk up to her and rip a hair from her head._

_Bellatrix was certifiably insane and Robert had done his damnest to avoid her. A sudden scream echoed down the hall, causing Robert to shiver. It wasn’t a scream of fear or pain, but an elated scream of triumph that none other than Bellatrix Lestrange was capable of._

_Fuck._

_Maybe, Robert thought hysterically, if she was in a good mood, then she’d willingly give him one of her hairs! Unfortunately, he was not that optimistic. The scene that welcomed him as he reached the end of the corridor and stepped into the grand foyer reasserted that thought._

_Standing in all of her deranged glory, Bellatrix Lestrange was splattered in blood and a few other questionable liquids. Her lips were twisted into a maniacal grin that made Robert shrink back in fear. She was singing in a high, sickly sweet voice and waving her left hand around in the air. Upon closer inspection, Robert found that the hand was grasping a chunk of wild, curly black hair with a bit of blood on the ends._

_She had ripped her own hair out of her head and was happily waving it around like some trophy._

_If that didn’t prove that she was bloody mad, then Robert didn’t know what would. Suddenly, and idea occurred to the cowering Death Eater. He could just take that hair from her and bring it back to his Lord! With a relieved smile, Robert walked cautiously over to the crazed woman and spoke up before he lost his nerve._

_“Madam Lestrange, why don’t I take that hair and dispose of it for you?” Bellatrix’s body went rigid and she turned on him with a polar opposite demeanor._

_“What!? No! It’s mine!” She screeched, clutching the bundle of hair to her chest possessively. Robert flinched at her loud high-pitched voice and tried hard to keep his expression blank. Merlin, it really was her own hair! But there was no time to worry over the woman’s obvious issues; he needed to fix this situation quickly._

_“No, no, I didn’t mean to offend you, Madam Lestrange! I only wanted to relieve you of your burden. But, if I may, please, have just one hair…?” Robert pleaded. That was all he needed, just one hair with the root still attached. Bellatrix regarded him coldly. Then—much to Robert’s horror—a slow, seductive smile slid across her lips. She sauntered over to him, hips swaying in a teasing way that only served to frighten Robert more._

_“Well, ickle-Robby, I suppose that I could spare one hair for you.” She plucked one hair from the patch and handed it over to him with a dainty gesture that belied her earlier actions. Carefully, so as not to anger her, Robert reached out and took the thin black strand from her fingertips. Before he could make a hasty retreat, the wild-haired woman leaned in close to his ear._

_“Treat it carefully,” she whispered, before shoving him away and dancing off with a sinister giggle. Robert shivered and scurried back down the hallway, intent on getting as far away from Bellatrix as possible._

“I assure you, it had the root and everything, My Lord!” Robert whimpered as he finished his tale. Bellatrix was looking at him with a murderous expression.

“You fool! That wasn’t my hair!” She screamed furiously and began to advance toward him. Voldemort stopped her in her tracks.

“And who’s hair was it, Bellatrix?” he asked coldly. The corset-clad woman paused before turning pleading eyes onto her Lord. 

“I-it was Potter’s, My Lord,” she whispered. The Dark Lord’s face remained expressionless, but his eyes turned cold in his fury.

“ _Harry Potter’s_?” he hissed malevolently. No, it just couldn’t be possible… his mate was not Harry Potter! 

“And how did you possess a handful of Harry Potter’s hair?” he asked Bellatrix, determined to find some flaw in their stories to prove them wrong. The woman fidgeted, before standing tall and proud.

“There was a raid, about a week ago, My Lord. Lucius and I led a small group of Death Eaters to a muggle village to have some fun. Apparently, one of the people living there was a mudblood, though, and contacted the Order of the Phoenix. They showed up a few minutes into the raid and started to fight us. I found my disgusting cousin, Sirius, and was having an excellent time dueling him when Potter appeared. He started to duel me instead, and at some point I got close enough to pull out some of his hair.” She wisely left out her observations on Potter’s improved skills. 

Voldemort stared at the wall over Bellatrix’s shoulder as he thought over her tale. He refused to believe it. But Bellatrix wouldn’t lie to him, especially when she didn’t know what he had used the hair for. Still, he couldn’t believe it…it couldn’t possibly be true…

“Leave me!” the Dark Lord snarled. He needed to look over his notes on the potion. There had to be a loophole somewhere, even if he’d specifically created it to have none. He would _make_ one.

___________________________________________________________________________

Harry shut the bathroom door, effectively cutting off the shouts from the kitchen, and braced his arms against the sink. A glance in the mirror showed that his glamour spell had begun to wear off and the dark circles under his eyes were standing out in stark contrast with his pale skin.

At least the large bald spot on the top of his head had filled out with hair once more. 

One of Snape’s disgusting potions for hair growth had solved that. Merlin, didn’t that man know how to make a decent tasting potion? One would think that, being a Potions Master and all, he would be able to invent a way to make them taste better. Maybe he made them taste vile on purpose. Harry could definitely believe that. 

But the hair had grown back exceptionally fast, so Harry couldn’t bring himself to hate the man too much. However, this didn’t change the fact that Harry was still suspicious of the dungeon bat. Snape had the Dark Mark, he just knew it! Harry’s hands clenched into fists against the black marble sink. 

Fitting, that the furnishings in the Black house were all black. 

Harry shook his head in an attempt to clear it of its sleep-deprived haze. He hadn’t had a decent night’s rest in weeks. The Order of the Phoenix had been working non-stop to locate the Dark Lord’s headquarters, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione were no exception to the search. As soon as all three of them had turned fifteen, Dumbledore had inducted them into the Order and set them to work. While his remaining summer holiday was being spent tediously sorting through coded messages, patiently shadowing suspected Death Eaters, and fighting in small battles against the Dark, Harry was just glad that he was finally being included. 

Dumbledore no longer held any secrets from him and his friends. The night that he’d been inducted, Harry had been told about the prophecy and Voldemort’s horcruxes. This was what kept him awake at night: he was holding a piece of the Dark Lord’s soul within him. Well, maybe “holding” was a bad choice of words. It gave him strange mental images of him cradling a tiny piece of soul against his chest and cooing at it and nurturing it. Considering whose piece of soul it was, that was quite an unsettling thought. Perhaps “hosting” was a better word? 

It was easier to think of Voldemort’s soul as a parasitic leech, rather than an infant that needed nurturing. 

But Harry’s thoughts were digressing. He really needed some sleep, especially if he wanted to keep his troubles hidden from the rest of the Order. Only he and Dumbledore knew about the horcruxes and Harry didn’t want to give anyone a reason to start questioning him and somehow find out. He wasn’t a very good liar, after all. 

After scrubbing the heels of his palms over his eyes, Harry re-applied the glamour over his face and stepped out of the bathroom to face the arguing adults once more. They were fighting over where to search for the Dark Lord’s hideout next. Arthur, Bill, Fred, George, Ron, Moody, and Dumbledore all believed that Voldemort was hiding in Malfoy Manor. Kingsley, Hermione, McGonagall, and Severus were adamantly against storming a private residence. 

Harry honestly didn’t know what side to choose in this argument. On one hand, Lucius Malfoy was highly suspicious and his manor seemed like the perfect residence for the Dark Lord. On the other hand, Harry believed that Draco wouldn’t be able to keep from bragging about the Dark Lord staying in his house. The fact that Severus was strongly against searching Malfoy Manor was suspicious as well, and Harry was naturally inclined to side with Dumbledore. The man was imperfect, yes, had made mistakes, yes, but he’d tried his best to fix them and to stay on the right path. Despite his omnipotence recently being torn down in Harry’s eyes, the headmaster was still a man that he admired greatly. 

“Why on earth would Lucius Malfoy want to hide the Dark Lord in his home?” Hermione shouted at Ron. 

“Why _wouldn’t_ he want to?” Ron yelled back. The argument seemed to have digressed into a shouting match between his two friends while Harry was briefly absent and he decided that it was time for him to interfere. 

“Exactly, Hermione. Why wouldn’t Lucius Malfoy want to hide the Dark Lord?” Harry asked calmly. He’d acquired a great deal of patience over the past few weeks since Ron and Hermione had begun to fight like the married couple everyone knew they’d be in the future. Harry quickly learned that arguments dissipated faster when one handled them calmly. 

“Well, that’s obvious, Harry,” Hermione huffed impatiently at him. “He works in the Ministry. He would be under constant surveillance while there and he probably hosts events and dinners with Ministry officials all the time! He would have no way to get past the Ministry’s watchful eye.” Sometimes, Harry thought that Hermione had a little too much faith in their Ministry. She’d played right into his plans, however, and it seemed that Harry’s side in the argument had been chosen for him. 

“But it’s _because_ of that assurance that the Ministry wouldn’t believe him to be capable of it. He would be able to slip right under their noses because the Ministry wouldn’t expect Malfoy to even consider housing the Dark Lord. Not to mention, most of the Ministry officials don’t believe that Voldemort is back. And I’m sure that Malfoy is doing his best to encourage their blind rejection of the mere thought all the more so.” Harry concluded with a slight feeling of satisfaction. Even Hermione would be hard pressed to find an argument against that. 

Much to the amusement of everyone in the room, Hermione opened and closed her mouth several times before snapping it shut with a bewildered look on her face. Harry could practically read her thoughts: When had he gotten smart enough to argue against her and _win_? The green-eyed teenager barely resisted smirking; it felt nice to one-up Hermione every now and then. 

“Well then. I believe that we have come to a decision,” Dumbledore said with a genial smile. “Arthur, please owl any members that are not present about our decision to search Malfoy Manor. We will need to gather everyone and create a plan.” 

And just like that, Harry was reminded of the real reason why he had previously been so indecisive. It was entirely possible that Voldemort was hiding in Malfoy Manor and that they would confront him soon. Harry wasn’t ready to face the wizard yet. He still hadn’t come to terms with the fact that he was a horcrux and he didn’t know how he would react to Voldemort’s presence. It would probably be in the forefront of his mind, and all the Dark Lord would have to do was rip through his feeble mental shields to find the information. Or it would be written all over his face and the man wouldn’t even have to read his mind to figure it out. Or—

Any number of things could go wrong. That was how it always was, but Harry had never been afraid of taking that risk before, right? There was no reason for him to freak out now. All that would do is succeed in clueing everyone in that something was off. 

Harry had always been Voldemort’s horcrux and the fact that he was now consciously aware of it did not change anything. Nothing new would suddenly happen. Besides, if Harry was lucky, then Voldemort was still in the dark about it and would have no reason to act any different. 

And Harry’s luck always did have a way of making itself known when faced with the other end of Voldemort’s wand.

____________________________________________________________________________

Pain.

Indescribable pain throbbed in Harry’s head as he collapsed to the ground and clutched at his forehead. It felt like a hook had latched behind his forehead and was attempting to tug something out from behind it. Harry could do nothing but scream. Vaguely, he was aware of people around him, touching him, talking to him, trying to understand what was wrong, but he couldn’t convey how terrible he felt even if he had the mind to speak. As it was, the pain commandeered Harry’s thoughts. 

The messy-haired teenager curled up into the fetal position on the floor of Grimmauld Place’s kitchen. He and the Order had been going over their plans for the search at Malfoy Manor when the sharp burn had suddenly erupted from behind his eyes. Harry was sure that he couldn’t take the pain much longer and he hoped to Merlin that it would stop soon. Tonight was the night that their plan would be set into motion and he didn’t want to set the Order back because of his…whatever this was. 

Suddenly there was a great tug behind his eyes, the searing pain reached new heights and Harry was sure that he had blacked out for a minute. Then, finally, it was over. The green-eyed boy released a shaky sigh of relief and slowly opened his eyes to stare up at the familiar faces surrounding him. Snape shoved a potion under his nose and Harry moved his hands away from his forehead to take it, grateful to the snarky git for once. Harry frowned as he drank the foul-tasting pain reliever. 

The greasy-haired man looked sallow, as if he had been the one to experience the pain. Odd. 

Harry glanced around and noted with surprise that he was on the coach in the living room. The adults must have moved him there while he was unaware of his surroundings. Several gasps from the other occupants in the room captured Harry’s attention. They were staring at him—no, his forehead—with mixtures of horror, surprise, and elation. 

“What?” he asked worriedly. What had happened to him _now_? 

“Harry, mate,” Ron whispered slowly, “your scar…”

Harry’s trepidation increased as Ron trailed off, gulping audibly. 

“What’s wrong with my scar?” 

“It’s…well, it’s gone,” Hermione told him bluntly. Harry stared at her in incomprehension. It was _gone_? Seeing his confusion, the bushy-haired girl conjured a mirror and held it out to Harry. Just as Hermione had stated, the lightning bolt shaped scar that had adorned Harry’s head since the age of one was nowhere to be seen. Harry could only gape uselessly at his reflection, until a thought occurred to him.

“But… Headmaster, does this mean…?” he trailed off as he looked up at Dumbledore. The grim line to his lips said everything: Harry was no longer Voldemort’s horcrux. Before he could allow himself to succumb to the hope that bubbled within his chest, Harry needed to test the theory. Pulling out his wand, Harry cast Serpensortia and watched as a snake appeared on the floor in front of him. 

Several Order members shouted and jumped away from the reptile, but Harry focused solely on what the snake was saying. Or rather, tried to understand the nonsensical hissings. He opened his mouth and attempted to speak to the snake, but only normal English came out of his mouth. Absentmindedly, he vanished the snake and stared at the empty spot on the floor blankly. 

He couldn’t understand the snake. He couldn’t speak to the snake. He was no longer a Parselmouth. 

“Harry, what were you thinking!?” Molly Weasley screeched in horror. Dumbledore, understanding what Harry had been doing, soothed the protective mother before she could go off into a tirade. Ron was cowering in a corner while Hermione scolded him on not protecting her. Remus was touching Harry’s arm and asking him if he was okay. Harry paid none of this attention and instead walked numbly upstairs to his room. He needed to think this over. 

Wait, why would he need to think this over? There should be nothing to worry about. In fact, he should be dancing in happiness right now. He was no longer carrying a piece of Voldemort’s soul! But instead, he only felt a little disoriented. Perhaps, because the soul had been inside of him for so long, he had become used to its presence? 

Yes, that must be it. 

Feeling as though he hadn’t resolved a single thing, Harry undressed and slipped into his bed for a restless nap before the mission tonight. He had no idea that this feeling of emptiness did not stem from Voldemort’s missing soul piece, but from the fact that it was Voldemort himself that Harry now craved.

_______________________________________________________________________________

Deep within the Department of Mysteries, in a room full of eerily glowing glass spheres, one small globe trembled. It moved, slowly, toward the edge of the shelf where it teetered on the brink of falling. Then, with a loud shattering noise that echoed throughout the otherwise silent room, the prophecy globe fell to the floor and broke. Smoke rose lazily from the shards of glass and a whispery voice began to speak.

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal—mark him as…his…equal…”_

The voice repeated the last line like a broken muggle record until it faded into nothingness along with the pieces of broken glass. There was nothing but a label with the name “Harry Potter” left on the floor. 

The prophecy was no longer in effect, for Harry Potter was marked by the Dark Lord no more. It had disintegrated, leaving a space for another prophecy to take its place in the future. 

For prophecies were forever being created and destroyed as the humans they predicted constantly changed and grew.

___________________________________________________________________________________

“My Lord!”

Voldemort turned toward the imbecile that had dared to interrupt his research. A harsh glare sent the pathetic man into a trembling mess as he rushed to explain his interruption. 

“Members of the Order of the Phoenix are here! They are engaging in battle with the Death Eaters that were stationed here as we speak!” the cowering man squeaked in terror at the expression on his Lord’s face. He had thought, like the other Death Eaters, that his Lord’s new appearance would be less frightening. How wrong he had been. Those handsome features could contort into an expression of cold fury that was just as intimidating as it was on the reptilian features. 

“What?” Lord Voldemort asked coldly. He had not yet discovered a solution to his little predicament and this invasion was wholly unwelcome. 

“T-there aren’t many Death Eaters stationed here and w-we’re out numbered, My Lord!” the Death Eater bowed in order to hide from the Dark Lord’s wrathful stare. 

Voldemort glared at his follower for a few moments longer than necessary—he enjoyed watching them squirm—before calmly closing the large book he had been perusing and standing. Though he needed to find a solution to his mate problem immediately, he simply could not stand by and let Dumbledore win a battle while on his territory. No, Voldemort would show the old man that even an imminent future with Potter as his mate could not ruin his focus. He would overcome this issue and throw it back into their faces. 

Not that they would be aware of this, of course. The Light side had no idea of his ritual and even with the dramatic change in his appearance, they would never be capable of discovering what he had done. His own followers had no idea of his transformation into an immortal hybrid creature. 

Thus, it was with a confident stride that Voldemort left the library and headed toward the front doors of Malfoy Manor. What he found outside was complete chaos. The front lawn, once perfectly cut and green, was burnt and missing several chunks of grass. Jets of light in all colors imaginable spewed from wands and lit up the darkening sky. A group of several Order members were crowding around two Death Eaters over to the left, while most of the others were dueling one-on-one. Voldemort pulled his hood up and chose to break up the group on the left before picking out his first opponent. He preferred to duel against a single person at a time, as it was more graceful than crowding into a mosh pit and flinging curses at everyone in sight.

That was not as fun as figuring out one’s partners’ weaknesses and then providing a unique torture for each one. 

A wizard landing heavily on the ground, presumably due to a blasting curse, suddenly blocked Voldemort’s path. He stopped short and stepped back to avoid the splatters of mud. He lifted his wand with a sneer, but froze when he saw who the wizard was. There, standing a few feet away, was none other than Harry Potter. The boy was covered in small scratches and had some ash on his face that had probably originated from the fire that had also singed the side of his robes. He was panting from exertion and gripping his wand with white knuckles. 

Beautiful…

No! This was _Harry Potter_! Under no circumstances was he to be thought of as _beautiful_! Gods, but those eyes were glowing with so much power…

Voldemort quickly averted his eyes to the brat’s hairline in an attempt to gain control of his thoughts. He absently noted that there was no missing chunk of hair from the duel with Bellatrix. 

Harry advanced toward the wizard that had just blasted him away. Before he knew it, Voldemort was calling out the boy’s name. It was a monumentally stupid thing to do, but the fact that Harry had not even glanced his way did not sit right with the Dark Lord. When the Light and Dark sides had clashed before, it had always felt as if there were just the two of them within the room. Now, the boy was not paying him any attention and he loathed it. 

Damn that Veela blood! 

Potter turned and stared at him, squinting in the dim light of dusk, before he seemed to understand who the tall, hooded figure must be. The boy’s eyes widened and he shifted his stance, becoming defensive and wary. All of his attention was clearly focused on Voldemort and the man reveled in it. This was how it was supposed to be; no one else existed while they stared into each other’s eyes. 

Well, that was a bit too romantic. It was more like “while they glared balefully at each other and began to cautiously circle one another.” 

Sadly, Voldemort was unwilling to cast the first curse and it appeared that Harry was being exceptionally cautious with him tonight. That wouldn’t do. While it would be so easy to simply circle each other the entire night and not worry about hurting his mate, Voldemort couldn’t afford to do that in front of his Death Eaters. But he couldn’t make the first move either. 

Fortunately, there was a simple solution to this problem: anger Harry to the point of doing something rash. Easily said and easily done. 

“You are a fool for coming here. What did you expect to gain? The death of another of your precious _friends_? You're a fool, Harry Potter, and you will lose everything,*” Voldemort said with a mocking grin. The mention of his loved one’s deaths worked better than telling Wormtail that there was free food in his cage. 

Potter turned red in anger and raised his wand, rashly shouting off an _Expelliarmus_. Voldemort blocked it with a scowl, unhappy that he hadn’t gotten to start a formal duel like he wanted. Though, it was his fault for angering the boy with his taunts and making him look so delightfully _powerful_ in his wrath…

“It’s you who is the fool, Voldemort!” the boy shouted, preparing to fire off another spell. He opened his mouth, but instead of the light spell that Voldemort had expected, a shrill scream spilled out. 

“How dare you speak his name! YOU FILTHY HALF-BLOOD!*” Bellatrix screeched as her Crucio continued to torture Harry. She had seen the boy confront her Lord and would not let his casual use of her Lord’s name go unpunished. Surely, her Lord would thank her for this—

“ _Expelliarmus_!” Voldemort snarled and deftly caught the insane bitch’s wand as it flew through the air. He didn’t know what was more worrying; that he’d used the light spell that Harry Potter was famous for using during battles, or that he’d used it against one of his best followers. For one terrible moment, he had been unable to do anything but stare as Harry collapsed to the ground and convulsed in pain. Then the boy had begun to scream and Voldemort had shot into action. He would not stand around and allow someone to torture his mate! 

Stunned by her Lord’s use of a disarming spell against her, Bellatrix watched in confusion as the imposing wizard glided over to Potter and bent to check on him. 

After ascertaining that the boy had only minor injuries and was still quite sane, if a bit delirious at the moment, Voldemort turned slowly toward Bellatrix. He would focus on punishing her for being insubordinate while giving Harry enough time to escape. Though he dearly wished to take the boy into his care, which would not be wise. These feelings of protection were only temporary until he could fix the issue. His Death Eaters would be angry and confused and Harry would only try to fight him and injure himself more. 

So, he would appease his Veela side by letting the boy get away. There would always be other confrontations later, after all. 

“Bellatrix,” Voldemort hissed coldly. “How dare you act without my permission? I have explained to you that the boy is not to be touched. Only I can be the one to end his existence.” Bellatrix shrunk back in fear of her master. The hood covered his new, handsome features and she could only see glowing red eyes from underneath. It reminded her of her place rather effectually. 

Voldemort was pleased to note that everyone was focused on he and Bellatrix while Harry had taken the chance to put as much distance between them as possible. Salazar, he really needed to do something about this mate issue; it was turning him into a softie.

______________________________________________________________________________

Several pops rang throughout the silent night as the Order of the Phoenix apparated in front of Grimmauld Place. Ron was supporting Harry because his legs were too shaky to hold him up. Everyone hurried into the Black house and immediately began to fuss over Harry. They brought him into the living room and laid him down on the couch, giving Harry a sense of Déjà vu; hadn’t he been passed out on this very couch just this afternoon? It seemed like days ago.

After he had been _Crucioed_ , everyone had lost focus in the battle and had disapparated back to Grimmauld Place. They had discovered what they had been looking for anyway; Voldemort was hiding in Malfoy Manor. 

“That… _witch_!” Molly Weasley grumbled as she pulled sheets over Harry’s trembling body. “To _Crucio_ you just for saying his name…the nerve! Oh, but don’t you worry, Harry dear. We’ll make sure that she doesn’t come near you ever again.” 

Harry smiled weakly at the overbearing woman. He really didn’t mind that Bellatrix had cursed him; it wasn’t anything personal. The woman was unstable and anyone could have been at the other end of her spell had they said “Voldemort”. Harry wondered what she would have done had he called him “Tom”. Probably nothing, since she didn’t know that that was Voldemort’s birth name. 

Speaking of which, he hoped that he hadn’t called Voldemort that name when the man had come over to…examine him. The Unforgivable had left him a bit delirious and he didn’t know what might have come out of his mouth. 

Why had Voldemort been acting so weird? At first, the man had seemed normal, wanting to duel him and taunting him about his friend’s death, but then Bellatrix had cursed him. Voldemort had commanded her to stop and then went over to Harry to do what seemed like examine him for any serious injuries. He had even left an opening for Harry to escape that was so obvious even the dense boy noticed it. 

Voldemort had almost appeared to want to take Harry to safety himself, but was afraid that this would not be well received. Which was entirely true; Harry would never trust the Dark Lord enough to allow the man to keep him safe. It was completely uncharacteristic that the man had allowed him to leave safely. However, the way that he’d gone about letting Harry escape was characteristic of the Dark Lord…

Harry could feel a headache pounding behind his eyes. 

Merlin, this was all so confusing and his body was aching and the people around him were asking inane questions about his wellbeing and he just wanted to _sleep_ …

___________________________________________________________________________________

Lord Voldemort picked up the book he had been reading and hurled it at the wall. It slammed into the stone with a thud that was not nearly satisfying enough.

 _Nothing._

There was no information on how he could possibly change his mate. Every book that he had searched contained the same answer to his dilemma; it simply was not possible to change a Veela’s mate. As it was, he had already defied the laws of nature by choosing his mate. Voldemort had scoured every note that he had taken on the subject before the ritual and every note made about the potion. 

_Nothing._

The word echoed uselessly in Voldemort’s head. He had never been denied a solution like this before. Every problem that he had ever encountered had either had a solution or he had created one. He simply could not accept that there was no avoiding this issue. 

And yet, he would have to. 

Perhaps Voldemort could work this to his advantage. He was not delusional enough to believe that he could convince Potter to change to the Dark side, but maybe he could strike a deal with the boy. 

Voldemort leaned back in his chair and contemplated his choices. What did Harry desire most? What could he offer the boy in return for his…cooperation? 

His friends’ safety.

Yes, Harry was overly sentimental and always playing the hero in order to save his friends. It was regrettable, really, because the boy had _so much potential_ and yet he wasted it on risking his life to save others. But Voldemort could twist that desire to save to his advantage. He would make a deal with Harry, which he would spare five people of his choice in exchange for the boy helping him win over the ministry.

It was a brilliant plan. The elections for Minister of Magic were in two weeks’ time and Voldemort could use Harry’s fame and status as the “Savior” to promote his choice for minister. Then, he would slowly begin to weed out the useless ministry officials and pass the laws he wanted. Harry could help him with that, too. He could give speeches to soothe the public while Voldemort passed ministry decrees that might not be desired by the masses. Yes, it was all coming along nicely…

Now all he had to do was get his hands on the boy. 

Literally. He would really love to run his fingers over that smooth, tan skin—

Lord Voldemort stood calmly from his chair and headed toward the summoning chamber. A good distraction was in order and he would need information from Severus on Harry’s whereabouts anyway. 

He had no wish to take _another_ cold shower today.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Severus Snape hissed and clamped a hand over his left forearm as the Dark Mark blazed to life. It wriggled slightly, demanding that he answer the summons from his Lord. Keeping his expression calm, Severus locked eyes with Dumbledore, who was sitting at the head of the dining table that had been crammed into the kitchen at Grimmauld Place. With a stoic nod to the headmaster, he slipped out of the room.

Doing his best to ignore the pain in his left arm, the Potions Master strode out of Grimmauld Place and allowed the magic within the Dark Mark to apparate him into the summoning chamber at Malfoy Manor.

“My Lord,” Severus spoke clearly as he immediately dropped into a kneeling position after landing.

“Severus,” his Lord spoke silkily. “You may rise.”

Severus stood gracefully and looked up at the Dark Lord sitting on his throne. He expertly concealed his surprise at the man’s changed appearance. Immediately, his mind began to run through possible scenarios, altering and discarding reasons for why the Dark Lord would look human once more.

The potion.

_Of course_. His Lord had asked him to make a potion that he had invented. The man hadn’t informed him of the use for this potion, but the ingredients were fairly self-explanatory, if one knew what to look for. It had called for Veela and Dementor blood, as well as a hair from Bellatrix. The other ingredients were typically used to ensure that those three main ingredients retained their properties and mixed together nicely. There were only so many things one could do with a potion containing creature blood and a hair from another person.

No doubt, his Lord’s new countenance was thanks to the Veela blood. Though, he still had red eyes. A side effect, Severus knew, from splitting his soul seven times. As for the Dementor blood…well, the man was exuding a strong, icy aura that was capable of causing potent fear within others.

So the Dark Lord had transformed himself into a magical hybrid. It wasn’t difficult to guess why the man had chosen to do such a thing to himself; Lord Voldemort had been seeking immortality since his school days, possibly even earlier.

“Do you recall the potion I had you brew a few weeks ago, Severus?” the Dark Lord asked with a veiled expression. Severus thought quickly. Obviously the potion worked, so why was his Lord asking him this?

“I do, My Lord,” he replied cautiously. 

“And do you remember whose hair it was that you had added to the potion once it was completed?” Indeed Severus did. He had yet to figure out what the hair was for, but…

“Bellatrix’s, My Lord, just as you had ordered Reddendum to retrieve—“

“Yes, and Reddendum failed in obtaining Bellatrix’s hair. I assume that the lock of hair you added was a great deal shorter than Bellatrix’s?” The objective of this meeting was suddenly clear to Severus. The Dark Lord would more than likely punish him for not realizing the mistake. 

“…Yes, it was, My Lord.” 

Voldemort leaned back in his throne, appearing satisfied with Severus’ answer and well-hidden discomfort over the situation. 

“My Lord, if I may ask…whose hair was it?” 

The Dark Lord watched the Potions Master for several seconds before resting his elbows on the arms of his throne and steepling his fingers. 

“Harry Potter’s,” he answered shortly, examining Severus’ reaction closely. Severus assumed that this would be an excellent chance for Voldemort to test his loyalty. 

Fortunately, he was quite an accomplished Occlumens. He had no trouble hiding his surprise at the Dark Lord’s words and easily masked it with a sneer of distaste. Everyone, except for Dumbledore, believed that he hated the Boy Who Lived. However, the boy really didn’t bother Severus. The only reason that he paid any attention to Potter was because the boy was the Light’s biggest chance for winning and at the moment, Severus was placing his bets with that side. 

That did not mean that he was _part of_ the Light side. No, the lone man was on his own side. The only reason he played any role in the war was because whichever side won would be ruling the Wizarding World, and Severus wanted to have a hand in both sides in order to ensure his survival no matter who prevailed. 

If the Light won, he would be revealed as a double spy and maintain a respectable place in society—and out of Azkaban. If the Dark won, he would still be revealed as a double spy and a member of the Inner Circle Death Eaters, once again maintaining a respectable position. 

“And how is it that Reddendum managed to get Potter’s hair and mistake it for Bellatrix’s, My Lord?” he asked incredulously, making sure to mutter Potter’s name with more disdain than Reddendum’s, though his feelings for the two wizards were actually switched. Robert Reddendum was a useless, cowardly man that would sooner die than try to survive. Severus had no respect for people like that. 

“According to the story I was told by Bellatrix and Reddendum, the Order had ambushed a raid, leading to Potter and Bellatrix dueling. At one point, she was close enough to rip out a decent sized chunk of the boy’s hair. Reddendum found her afterward waving the strands around like some trophy. Apparently, he believed that it was her hair that she had yanked from her own head and was parading it around.“ Severus’ sneer deepened and Voldemort chuckled. “Hmmm, he _is_ quite the travesty of a worthy Death Eater, is he not?”

“Indeed, My Lord,” Severus murmured, momentarily stunned that the Dark Lord had just _chuckled in a good-humored nature_. The Dark Lord was never in a good mood! What had brought about this sudden sanity?

The lanky Potions Master was suddenly reminded of the night when Potter’s scar had caused him great pain before disappearing, along with the boy’s ability to speak Parseltongue. Either had yet to return. 

Could it be possible that the Dark Lord no longer had any horcruxes? 

He would need to discuss this with Dumbledore immediately. They had had their suspicions after Potter’s scar disappeared, but Voldemort’s new behavior was more proof to solidify the theory. 

“You are probably wondering what change this mishap brought about,” Voldemort prompted. Severus sensed that they were drawing near to the main point of this meeting. 

“I admit to being curious, My Lord.” 

“The hair, as you may have guessed, was intended to be the hair of my mate,” the Dark Lord stated calmly. 

No, Severus had most certainly _not_ guessed that. 

“The potion I had designed would change me into a Dementor and Veela hybrid. Veela have predestined mates, however I was not about to find myself stuck with a stranger. Instead, I added a component to the potion that would allow me to choose my mate by mixing in one strand of their hair. Obviously, I had planned to have Bellatrix as my mate, however…” the imposing man trailed off meaningfully, clearly expecting Severus to connect the rest of the dots. 

Great Salazar, Harry Potter was the Dark Lord’s mate! He’d just subjected a fifteen-year-old boy to a life bound to Voldemort. 

“…My Lord, may I ask what you are planning to do with Potter?” Severus questioned once he’d regained his composure. His Lord sat forward and pinned him with a cold red stare. Severus could feel the temperature in the room drop several degrees. Merlin, as if the Dark Lord really needed _more_ power…

“That is why I have summoned you here today, Severus. I need information on the boy’s location. I have searched for a way to reverse this dilemma and found nothing. There is no avoiding the fact that Harry Potter is now my mate and I do not intend for him to be fighting against me; that would only hinder my progress. Tell me where the boy is or find out if you do not yet know and we shall create a plan to obtain him,” This order was hardly concealed, proving how serious his Lord was. “Of course, My Lord,” Severus murmured, bowing low in respect. He had not missed the dismissal either. Still bowing, he backed out of the summoning chamber and shut the doors behind him. 

Now he had a decision to make. There was no way he was going to be able to withhold information from the Dark Lord. Instead, he would have to decide whether he wanted to help kidnap Harry Potter or only _appear_ to help whilst actually hindering Voldemort. 

By the time that Severus had reached the edge of Malfoy Manor’s wards, he had made his decision. The tables had turned and it seemed as if the Dark side was soon to be the winning side. Thus, Severus would solidify his loyalties to the Dark and help in kidnapping Harry Potter. 

He disapparated to Grimmauld Place, intent on finding Dumbledore. The Order meeting had probably just ended and the man would still be there. 

“Ah, Severus,” Dumbledore greeted jovially as the Potions Master walked into the study on the first floor of Grimmauld Place. The leader of the Light was seated behind a large black desk in the center of the room, looking scholarly with wall-to-ceiling bookshelves surrounding him. Severus nearly sneered. Sometimes the man tried too hard to look like the wise wizard he was praised as. 

“He wants to kidnap Potter,” Severus started, getting straight to the point. 

“And he wants you to provide the information to make this possible,” Dumbledore concluded, nodding sagely as if he had expected as much. 

“Yes, but he has already formulated a plan. He wants me to create a reason to move Potter to another location, by broom, and he will send a group of Death Eaters to capture the boy while he is out in the open.” 

It was a gamble to lie about this plan, as he had no idea whether the Dark Lord would be pleased by it, but sometimes—very rarely—it was important to take risks. Now, if Dumbledore would just cooperate…

“I see. Well, we shall have to do just that, so that your loyalty is not questioned,” Severus made to protest, but Dumbledore held up a hand to stop him. “Yes, it will be risky, but I am confident that the Order will be able to protect Harry. Besides, I have a little plan,” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled in mischief. 

Hook, line, and sinker. All that was left for Severus to do now was listen to Dumbledore’s plans and then relay them to the Dark Lord. 

“What is this ‘little plan’ that you have in mind?” the dark-eyed man asked, trying to look like he was attempting to hide extreme interest. 

“We will Polyjuice six other people as Harry and fly them all out at the same time,” the old man stated with an air of satisfaction. Well, it was a plan worth considering. 

“An excellent plan,” Severus murmured respectfully. “I assume that I should supply the Polyjuice, then?” 

“That would be most helpful, Severus,” Dumbledore agreed. “I would also like you to be in charge of Harry’s safety that night. Stay close to him and protect him when we fly out.” 

Severus nodded and left the room, beginning to formulate a plan for Voldemort to counter Dumbledore’s strategy.

___________________________________________________________________________

“My Lord,” Severus bowed before the Dark Lord. He had waited one day before delivering the information to Voldemort.

“Rise, and tell me what news you have brought.” 

“Dumbledore has agreed to move Potter to another location in three days time. He’ll Polyjuice six people to look like the boy and have them all leave at the same time and heading in different directions. Also, he has put me in charge of protecting the real Harry Potter,” Severus explained.

“I see,” Voldemort murmured, leaning back in his throne with a contemplative expression. “Then, unless you wish to remain a double spy, you can simply apparate here with the boy after you have left the wards over the place that he will be leaving.” 

“That was exactly what I was thinking, My Lord.” 

If Harry Potter was with the Dark side, then there was no need for Severus to keep his ties with the Light; whatever side had Harry Potter also had the public’s support and would subsequently win. Severus had no more reason to invest in the Light side. 

“Excellent. Then we have nothing left to discuss, Severus, you are dismissed.”

_____________________________________________________________________________

It was extremely odd to see six identical versions of himself all in different outfits and standing in front of him. Harry wasn’t happy that six other people were endangering themselves in order to pretend to be him and get him out safely, but of course they did it anyway. 

“Wow, we’re identical!*” Fred and George exclaimed and Harry couldn’t help but chuckle, even though he was mad at them for doing this. The six “Harrys” all changed into the same outfit and then headed outside. They each grabbed a broom and mounted, preparing to leave on Moody’s command. 

Snape climbed onto a broom next to him. Harry looked forward at Moody, determined to ignore the dungeon bat. Dumbledore had decided that Snape should be in charge of protecting Harry and the boy once again questioned how the headmaster could trust Snape so much. The man better not try anything funny…

“Go!” Moody shouted and everyone took off at the same time, flying into the sky swiftly. Harry steered his broom upward, wanting to gain some height, but a hand clamped down on his arm and stopped him. He looked over at Snape and frowned.

“What—“ the squeeze of apparition cut off any other words Harry might have said. They landed in a large room with a set of double doors on one wall and a single door on the opposite wall. Harry staggered ungracefully and nearly fell face first into the stone floor when Snape released his arm. 

“Thank you, Severus,” a dark voice hissed from in front of him. Harry tensed, recognizing the voice immediately. “You may leave us.”

Harry whirled around to face the greasy-haired git. “I knew it! Dumbledore never should have trusted you!” 

Snape merely sneered at him before bowing to Voldemort and stalking out of the room. Harry seethed and glared daggers at the closed double doors before remembering that he wasn’t alone in the room. Not wanting to leave his back open to the enemy, he quickly turned back around to face Voldemort. 

The man was watching him with an odd expression and Harry realized that it was only strange because Voldemort no longer looked like a snake. He unwittingly took a step backward in surprise. If anything, Harry found the handsome features to be more intimidating than the reptilian ones. This new appearance would be far too distracting…

Voldemort seemed to have noticed Harry’s retreat and an expression of amusement crossed his face. 

“Welcome, Harry. You have nothing to fear,” he stated with open arms as if he were waiting for Harry to hug him. 

The messy-haired boy nearly laughed at the incongruity of his words. Did Voldemort take him for a fool? Sure he wasn’t the brightest wizard out there, but he was smart enough to know that he had something to fear when in the presence of a man that had been trying to kill him since he was a year old. He didn’t think that the Dark Lord would like it if he started laughing at him, though, so Harry chose to ignore Voldemort’s “welcome” and blurt out the first thing that came to mind.

“Why do you look different?” Okay, so that was not one of Harry’s best ideas. He had been planning to pretend that the change in appearance had no affect on him whatsoever. Asking about it proved that it bothered him. 

Perhaps there was a reason why the Dark Lord thought he was fool…

“I’m glad that you asked, Harry. It brings us right to the point of this meeting.” 

Great, so much for stalling. 

“You see,” Voldemort continued after he had sat back down on his throne. “I recently underwent a ritual that would transform me into a magical creature. I have always sought immortality and had finally devised a way to become an immortal hybrid creature. There are remarkably few magical creatures that are immortal. I chose a Dementor over the typical Vampire, for I had no wish to become lost in bloodlust—“ Voldemort had seemed to fall into a “lecture mode” similar to when Hermione was helping Harry with his Potions essays. Harry didn’t care, however, and interrupted the man’s passionate speech.

“Dementor?” the boy asked incredulously, paling as he remembered his thankfully few experiences with those creepy creatures. Voldemort did not seem pleased to be interrupted, but his stern expression softened as he noticed Harry’s discomfort.

“Yes, they are immortal and inflict fear in others. What better creature for me? However, I am only a hybrid, and do not have the ability to suck a soul from another being. Also, the abilities that I do have can be stopped whenever I wish. But I said that I was a hybrid, and thus I am not only a Dementor, but also a Veela.” Harry wondered if he had stepped into an alternate dimension. The Dark Lord had willingly turned himself into a _Veela_? 

“It was originally not my intention to become a hybrid of the two creatures, but as I researched the Dementor, I learned that if I were to become a full Dementor, then my soul would be sucked out and leave me in a state equivalent to that of the Kiss. However, if I had a mate, then this would not happen. Dementors do not have mates, but Veelas are one of the few creatures that have mates and the only one that was compatible with Dementor blood. My mate would not be affected by the Dementor’s effects, so you have nothing to fear,” Voldemort added, giving Harry a meaningful look. 

Was Voldemort implying what Harry thought he was implying?

“I had created a potion that would allow me to choose who my mate would be and decided that Bellatrix was an excellent choice. Unfortunately, the follower that I gave the simple task of obtaining one of Bellatrix’s hairs to made a crucial mistake,” Voldemort continued, ignoring Harry’s confused expression. “He took one of the hairs that Bellatrix had been holding when she arrived at Malfoy Manor after a battle with the Order.” 

Harry’s eyes widened and his hand flew to the spot on his head where Bellatrix had ripped out a chunk of his hair two weeks ago. 

“No,” Harry whispered. 

“I’m afraid it’s true, Harry. I myself had been unwilling to believe it as well, but the signs are all there. You are my mate Harry Potter, and like it or not, you will be staying with me.” 

Harry was on the verge of a panic attack. He was Voldemort’s mate? He was bound forever to the man that had murdered his parents? He prayed to any god that would listen that this was just a very, very bad dream. 

“Wait!” the teenager shouted, having suddenly remembered something. “What about the prophecy? It says that one of us has to kill the other. I can’t possibly be your mate if we are destined to kill each other!” Voldemort looked at Harry with sudden intensity.

“You know the prophecy?” he asked. Harry frowned in confusion.

“Uh, don’t you?” He was sure that Dumbledore had said that Snape had overheard the prophecy and had immediately run to tell Voldemort.

“No, Severus only heard the first two lines. I do not know the entire prophecy. But you do. Tell me, Harry,” Voldemort demanded. Harry mentally banged his head against a wall. He’d stupidly given away too much information. 

“Fine. ‘The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies’,” he recited, hoping that he hadn’t just made another mistake. Voldemort would probably whip out his wand and start shooting Avada Kedavras at him now. 

“The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal…what does that mean…?” Voldemort mused to himself. 

“Um, Dumbledore and I believed that it was my scar,” Harry chimed in helpfully. He’d already given away a lot of valuable information, so why not give the rest? As the saying goes, “in for a Knut, in for a galleon”. 

“Your scar? Yes, that would make sense, I suppose…it is a mark that I gave you,” the Dark Lord murmured, appearing lost in thought.

“Well, it was actually because it made me your horcrux.” That snapped Voldemort out of his thoughts. He looked up sharply, pinning Harry with his red eyes.

“You know of my horcruxes?” He asked in with an intensity that demanded an answer. 

“Yes, all seven of them,” Harry said, deciding that he should have written a Will and Testament. He was surely going to die tonight after admitting his knowledge of Voldemort’s best-kept secret. 

“And you were one of them,” the dark wizard stated, seeming momentarily bemused. “Well, if that is the case, then the prophecy is null and void. I no longer have any horcruxes.” Harry’s jaw nearly dropped in surprise. 

“What? But how?” 

“It happened during the ritual. I was not expecting it to happen, but I imagine that it was the work of the Veela blood. All of my horcruxes were pieced back together and my soul is whole once more,” Voldemort explained, enjoying the stunned expression on Harry’s face. It was rather adorable…

“I realize that this is quite a lot to take in, but I have one more thing to discuss with you,” Voldemort spoke continued. “While I am not negotiating on you staying here with me, I am aware that you would not like to fight for my side. Instead, I have a proposition for you. In two weeks’ time, the election for Minister of Magic will be held. I want you to support the man I choose to run in the election in exchange for the lives of five people, of your choice, to be spared in the war. You will vote for him and make the public believe that he is the best choice for minister. Then, once he is elected, you will help soothe the public when I begin to pass new laws. Once I have the ministry under my control, the war is as good as won.” 

Harry considered what Voldemort was saying. However, he didn’t like what the man was proposing; he didn’t like choosing only a few people to live and basically condemning the others to death. He knew that it was unrealistic to believe that he could save everyone. He knew this, but…

It just didn’t feel right to choose exactly who would be saved. 

However, there was still the possibility that many of the other people would survive anyway. And maybe, just maybe, if Voldemort secured the ministry, then the war would stop. Or at least come closer to ending than it was now. Still, only five people weren’t enough to get him to praise Voldemort’s laws. 

“Ten people,” Harry said, looking into the Dark Lord’s red eyes with unwavering determination. Said eyes narrowed in thought. 

“You will publicly announce your support for my choice of minister and vote for him, and once he is in power, you will persuade the public that my laws are beneficial? In exchange for ten people, of your choice, to be saved?” Voldemort asked, appearing to weigh the pros and cons of allowing ten people to have complete protection in this war. Harry winced at his choice of words; it sounded as though he was buying his way through the war. 

But there was no longer any reason for him to fight or be involved at all in the war, he had to remember that. The prophecy was useless now that neither of them could die at the hands of the other. Well, Harry _could_ kill Voldemort. The mate bond didn’t affect him as strongly as it did Voldemort. 

Harry wouldn’t, though. It went against all of his morals to harm a man that was unable to harm him. Besides, Voldemort had said that all of his horcruxes had been pieced back together, and he did appear to be sane once more. It was possible that the man would actually change the Wizarding World for the better. How could Harry kill a man that had such potential? 

Damn his Gryffindor morals and ideas of redemption. 

“Yes. I will do it,” he said confidently, trying not to think too long on the fact that he’d just agreed to “sponsor” the Dark Lord. 

“Excellent. Then we shall leave our discussions at that for tonight. You are probably tired and no doubt need time to think. I shall show you to your room,” Voldemort said, standing up and leading Harry toward the single door next to his throne. They walked down a narrow hallway and ten minutes later arrived at an ornate doorway. Harry was trying desperately to remember how they had gotten there, but they had made too many twists and turns. 

“Here we are. Through those doors is your room,” Voldemort turned toward Harry and reached out, running a gentle hand down his jaw. Before Harry could react, he bent forward and brushed his lips against his cheek.

“Good night, Harry,” he whispered into the boy’s ear. Harry was so busy trying not to blush that he only realized that he hadn’t moved away until after Voldemort was gone.

_______________________________________________________________________________

Though his thoughts were running in confused circles, Harry had managed to sleep well. After Voldemort had bid him good night last night, he’d dashed into his room and collapsed onto the large, soft bed in the corner. He hadn’t even changed out of his clothes. Harry sat up and stretched, squinting his eyes in the morning sun that shone brightly into his room from the large window next to his bed. There was another window, further down the wall, which was designed to stick out further than the side of the manor. It had a window seat built into it that was bathed in sunlight. Harry was sorely tempted to act like a lazy cat and curl up on it, but he really needed a shower.

After washing in a bathroom that rivaled the Prefect’s bathroom in Hogwarts, Harry dressed in robes that were mysteriously—creepily—his size in the wardrobe next to his bed. As he was finishing towel-drying his hair a knock sounded on the door. He opened it to find Voldemort, dressed in simple but elegant black robes, standing on the other side. 

“Good Morning,” the black-clad wizard said pleasantly. 

“Er, hi,” Harry murmured, cursing his inelegance. But he couldn’t help it when Voldemort was staring at him in a way that a starved man looked at a prime rib steak. He couldn’t possibly look that good. His hair was still messy, although slightly damp from his shower, and the robes he had chosen were rather plain. They were emerald, but Harry didn’t think that that made much of a difference. Voldemort seemed to come back to himself after a moment, though, and Harry was able to successfully convince himself that the look had been his imagination.

“There will be a Death Eater gathering in an hour in which I shall introduce you to my followers, so that they would not dare harm you should they see you walking around Malfoy Manor.” 

That wasn’t going to happen if Harry didn’t figure out how to get from one place to another without getting lost in the damn mansion. 

“Until then, we shall have breakfast alone in the informal dining room,” Voldemort stated and turned to lead Harry presumably to the dining room. The green-eyed boy breathed a sigh of relief, glad that he wouldn’t be having breakfast with the Malfoys. 

The dining room was spacious with a large rectangular table that sat ten people in the center. Voldemort sat at the head of the table and Harry hovered for a moment, unsure of where he should sit. Voldemort gestured to the seat on his right and Harry slid into it slowly, busying himself with opening his napkin and placing it on his lap. 

A snap of Voldemort’s fingers and two house elves appeared carrying two trays each. The trays were piled high with every breakfast food in existence. Harry nearly gaped in astonishment. This was better than Hogwart’s breakfasts, something Harry never thought would be possible. 

As the food was set artfully onto the table, Harry took this time to observe Voldemort. The man was unnaturally tall, even when sitting down. His simple black robes accentuated his broad shoulders and exaggerated height. He maintained perfect posture in his chair and Harry was suddenly conscious of his slumping shoulders. 

He sat up straight and looked at the food, trying to decide what he wanted to eat first. He didn’t notice crimson eyes watching him in amusement. 

“I recommend the eggs Benedict. They are a filling and healthy way to start the day,” Voldemort stated, reaching out to pick a plate of them for himself. Harry stared at the man blankly.

_‘A filling and healthy way to start the day’?_

“Are you a health nut?” Harry asked incredulously. He supposed that it shouldn’t have surprised him, what with the man so afraid of dying, but somehow he never pictured the Dark Lord eating at all, much less healthily. 

But here he was, sitting with the Dark Lord Voldemort at the Malfoy’s dining table eating breakfast. It was almost surreal. 

“Yes, I suppose that I am,” Voldemort said, sending Harry an amused glance. Harry flushed. Why did he always blurt out stupid questions that entertained the man?

Thankfully, he didn’t have to say much more as they began to eat. Once Harry had finished his eggs Benedict, he picked a few strawberries to munch on and turned to watch Voldemort as he finished his own breakfast. 

“So,” Harry began awkwardly, trying to think of something to say now that they were both finished eating. 

“Yes?” Voldemort asked, placing his chin on his hands and watching Harry with unwavering attention, clearly amused by the teenager’s nervousness. Harry grabbed at the first thing that came to mind.

“Um, my room is beautiful,” he said, before mentally smacking himself on the forehead. While Voldemort may be his “host”, this wasn’t his house. Harry was complementing the Malfoys, not Voldemort, by saying that the rooms were nice. 

“I’m glad to hear that you are comfortable. We will stay at Malfoy Manor until the elections, and after that I will refurbish my old manor and we can move there,” the older man said, piquing Harry’s curiosity. 

“Where is your old manor?” 

“In Little Hangleton, the Riddle Manor,” Voldemort said nonchalantly. Harry was surprised. He hadn’t expected Voldemort to live in the home of the father he had hated so much that he’d killed him. Granted, the Dark Lord probably wasn’t bothered in the slightest about living in the home of a man he’d murdered—he had no doubt murdered several other followers and prisoners there as well. What surprised Harry was that he would live in a muggle’s home. 

“I see,” Harry said, wisely keeping his previous thoughts to himself. 

“Well, I believe that it is time to head toward the summoning chamber,” Voldemort said as the dishes vanished from the table. 

He stood and Harry placed his napkin on the table, surprised when the other man appeared at his side to help him up. Their gazes connected and Voldemort held on to Harry’s hand longer than was required. Harry gasped as he was suddenly tugged forward against the Dark Lord’s chest and warm lips pressed against his. 

He had never been properly kissed before and for a moment could do nothing but stand tensely and stare at Voldemort. But something was changing, rising, in his chest and a warm feeling filled him. There was an odd sense of rightness as lips moved slowly against his. It felt nice and Voldemort was looking at him with an open expression, eyes showing warmth and desire that made Harry want to trust him. 

So he pushed back a little, cautiously participating in the kiss, and was rewarded with long fingers threading through his hair. He closed his eyes in bliss and forgot about the meeting that they needed to attend in a few minutes. Hands slid down the back of his neck, over his shoulder blades, and to the small of his back, pressing him closer to a broad chest. He made a small noise in the back of his throat—perhaps a whimper, perhaps a moan—and the kiss deepened. 

Voldemort pushed him against the table, leaning forward to rest his hands on either side of Harry. A wet tongue slid lazily along his bottom lip and Harry opened his eyes to see a playful glimmer in the red ones opposite him. 

It was a challenge.

Harry accepted.

Boldly, he opened his mouth and licked a line from the bottom of Voldemort’s chin to his upper lip, drew his tongue around the man’s mouth, and then licked his own lips. Red eyes darkened to maroon and Harry’s tongue was scarcely back in his mouth before another was invading it. 

This time Harry was certain it was a moan that came from his throat. Their tongues rubbed together and pushed at each other, a strange dance of dominance and affection. Voldemort licked the roof of Harry’s mouth before slowly pulling back. 

Harry slumped against the table, glad for its support, and panted lightly. He absently licked the taste of Voldemort off his lips and watched as the man’s eyes followed the movement. Harry cleared his throat.

“Um, the meeting?” he asked, trying to remind himself as well. He would much prefer to stay here and kiss Voldemort rather than go to a meeting full of Death Eaters that wanted him dead. 

“Ah, yes,” Voldemort murmured and straightened up, offering his hand to Harry. His eyes sparkled in amusement. “You are quite distracting, did you know?” 

Harry blushed and looked away, earning a chuckle from Voldemort. The man reached forward and brushed his knuckles across the burning cheeks. 

“So innocent…” he murmured, and there was that look of dark lust from earlier in his eyes again. Harry wondered what could be so enticing about a scrawny, blushing, fifteen-year-old boy. 

Harry hadn’t really known what he was doing during that kiss, but Voldemort had challenged him and he’d wanted to taste the man more and…Harry’s blush deepened. Well, he’d just gone with his instincts. They had always been right before and it seemed that _that_ area of expertise was no exception. 

Voldemort stepped away to give Harry some space—he was afraid that the boy would pass out from all the blood rushing to his face—and turned to lead them to the summoning chamber. After that kiss, he’d been ready to sit the beautiful imp on the table and take him right there, no matter that any of the Malfoys could have walked in one them. Fortunately, Harry seemed a tad bit more levelheaded in these situations and had reminded him that they had a meeting to attend. 

He would have to bend Harry over the table another time. 

They entered the summoning chamber with minutes to spare. Voldemort conjured a second throne next to his before sitting down and motioning for Harry to do the same. Harry was surprised. He’d expected…well he didn’t know what exactly he’d expected but it hadn’t been that Voldemort would treat him as an equal so obviously. How would the Death Eaters react to Harry Potter sitting in a position of equality next to Voldemort? 

It surely wouldn’t be a pretty sight. 

Before Harry was mentally prepared—though he doubted he ever would be—Death Eaters began to pop into the room, lining up in an order that probably represented their rank. 

“Welcome, my followers,” Voldemort started as soon as all of the Death Eaters were present. “I have called this impromptu meeting to introduce you to an important person. I’m sure many of you know Harry Potter?” he gestured toward Harry and several gasps rang out through the crowd. Harry belatedly realized that Voldemort must have put a disillusionment spell over he and the throne, for only now did the Death Eaters look at him. Wands were suddenly pointed at him from all directions. 

“Lower your wands,” Voldemort ordered as a depressing chill filled the room. Harry shivered but was glad to note that this was all that was affecting him, even when he was this close to the man. A few whimpers sounded from the back of the room as some of the weaker Death Eaters experienced their worst memories. 

“You shall all respect Mr. Potter as you would respect me. He is to be my…ally,” Voldemort finished with an amused quirk to his lips. Clearly, the man was enjoying the reactions his Dementor powers were causing within his followers. 

“What!? But, My Lord, you can’t be serious!” a voice screeched from the front of the group. Both Harry and Voldemort looked down at Bellatrix with mild surprise. 

“I assure you, Bellatrix, I am quite serious,” Voldemort spoke in the tone of voice one might use to speak to a toddler. Bellatrix, however, didn’t seem to pick up on her Lord’s irritation and continued to screech in outrage.

“But why, My lord? He is nothing but a useless brat! He’s been a thorn in your side for years—“

“Bellatrix, I advise you to stop while you still have the chance. If you continue to insult my ally then I will cut off that insolent tongue of yours,” Voldemort said with a deadly calm voice. 

The room’s temperature plummeted several degrees more and Bellatrix suddenly found herself at the end of her master’s wand. She whimpered, experiencing a consuming fear and hopeless despair as she stared pleadingly into Voldemort’s cold red eyes. 

“F-forgive me, My Lord,” she whispered fearfully. Voldemort held his wand pointed at her for a few more seconds before slowly lowering it to his lap. The room did not rise back to a normal temperature for the remainder of the meeting.

_______________________________________________________________________

Voldemort shoved Harry against the wall with a savage growl. The boy groaned as the back of his head hit the wall painfully, but Voldemort was too focused on the gorgeous body that was partially revealed to him. He’d knocked on Harry’s door to take him to breakfast like every morning for the past week when the door had opened to reveal a barely dried toned body covered in nothing but a towel around the waist. Apparently Harry had just gotten out of the shower.

The boy had scarcely said “good morning” before he’d been pushed back into the room and pressed against the nearest wall by a _very_ eager Dark Lord. 

“Merlin,” Harry gasped as Voldemort went straight to his neck. The dark wizard smirked against the tan skin and nipped lightly in teasing. He trailed his lips up to the younger wizard’s ear and licked at the spot just behind his earlobe before breathing softly on it. Harry leaned his head to the side to offer more access. 

Voldemort trailed his lips across Harry’s neck, searching for a sensitive spot. The boy’s breath hitched as Voldemort reached the hollow in the front of his throat. He paused there and licked, earning a soft moan from Harry. The red-eyed man continued to tease that spot, sucking and biting to leave a mark. Harry threaded his hands into Voldemort’s hair and yanked the man’s head up, pressing a demanding kiss to his lips. 

The kiss was nothing like the one at breakfast that first day. This one didn’t start out slow or hesitant, and Harry knew what he was doing this time. It was eager, bordering on desperate, and both wizards loved it. Their tongues clashed, fighting for dominance, and Voldemort let Harry win for the moment while he slid his hands across the teen’s chest. While Harry explored his mouth, Voldemort explored his body, sliding his hands over every bit of exposed skin he could reach. 

Voldemort’s hand slid under the towel to squeeze Harry’s bare ass and the shorter wizard broke the kiss with a gasp. Admiring the boy’s expression—eyes closed in bliss, lips swollen and parted, glistening with their mixed saliva, cheeks flushed—Voldemort wondered how he’d ever kept his hands off of the boy in the past. 

“Harry,” the older wizard breathed, feeling his control slip a little more. He just wanted to feel him, taste him—claim him. 

Harry was rutting against Voldemort’s thigh and panting heavily. The taller wizard dropped his head onto Harry’s shoulder and rocked back against him. 

“Please,” Harry gasped, his voice right next to Voldemort’s ear, “touch me, please, just…” 

Voldemort needed no more encouragement. He pulled the towel off of Harry and wrapped his long fingers around the boy’s flushed cock. It twitched as he moved his hand up and over the head to smear some pre-come on his palm. He started a slow, torturous pace that had Harry thrusting into his hand and begging for him to go faster. 

“You look so beautiful like this,” Voldemort whispered into the boy’s ear, “so beautiful… and mine…” 

“Oh,” Harry’s brilliant green eyes were wide and dark, pupils blown out in lust as he gasped in shaky breaths, trying to breathe through the consuming pleasure. He was making quiet little noises that were driving Voldemort mad. The older man caught with the desire to make the boy moan louder and scream for him. 

A quick wandless and nonverbal lubrication charm later, Voldemort slipped a single finger into Harry’s ass. He didn’t even make it to the knuckle, Harry was so tight. Voldemort slowly moved the finger in and out as far as it would go, stretching Harry with the utmost care. The boy was so caught up in the pleasure his cock was experiencing that he didn’t even notice. 

He did, however, feel a sharp pain when the second finger was entered and Voldemort started scissoring the two digits. He whimpered and tears formed at the edge of his eyes, much to his mortification. But it really hurt…

“Shh,” Voldemort soothed and began to rub his fingers over the hot inner walls, searching for that spot that would take away the pain. Harry suddenly jerked and cried out, gripping the back of Voldemort’s robes. The dark wizard smirked and teased that nub some more, effectively distracting Harry from when he added a third finger. 

“Gods…Voldem—please, enough…I can’t—won’t last!” Harry babbled desperately. Voldemort gladly complied, pulling out his fingers and using the excess lube to cover his cock. He lined up with Harry’s entrance but paused.

“Harry,” Voldemort whispered, the tip of his cock barely pressing inside of the boy, “how much do you want this? Tell me, Harry.” 

Harry bit his lip to stifle a whine. He was acting like a bloody girl, but gods, if Voldemort would just hurry up and get _inside_ —“I want it, so bad! Please, just fuck me already, Voldemort!” he begged, drawing on his Gryffindor courage to say such bold words. 

It was the truth, though. He didn’t think that there was anything he wanted more badly right now. It didn’t even bother him that he was so open and vulnerable and this was _Voldemort_ he was begging for. There was chemistry between them, somehow, and he was stuck with the man for the rest of his life so he might as well make it enjoyable. 

And enjoyable it was.

Voldemort slammed into him, pushing Harry harshly against the wall, before pulling back out to the head and starting all over again. He didn’t give Harry time to adjust but Harry didn’t need it, didn’t want it. Voldemort thrust into him roughly, deeply, and that was what Harry wanted. 

He tried to stifle his moans, but Voldemort was making it so difficult, rubbing against his prostate on every thrust like that. And Harry didn’t really want to stifle his moans, anyway. He wanted to be loud; he wanted to scream the name of the man that was claiming him so thoroughly and possessively, because it was so wrong and so right. 

That warm feeling was rising in his chest again and filling him with affection. Wrapping his arms around Voldemort’s neck, he pulled the man down for a sloppy kiss. He was so close…

“Nnh!” Voldemort wrapped his fingers around Harry’s cock once more and fisted him in time with his thrusts. He could sense that the boy was close as his legs tensed up. 

Harry gasped as a tingling sensation enveloped his cock and he came with a shout, his head slamming against the wall. 

Voldemort growled as Harry tightened around him. He clung to the boy and thrust erratically, releasing inside of him a few minutes later.

____________________________________________________________________________

  


**Daily Prophet**  


_28 August 1995_

  


**Pius Thicknesse, the new Minister for Magic**  


_British wizards and witches, your votes for the next Minister for Magic have been totaled and the results are here! Pius Thicknesse is our Minister for Magic. The votes were close, but this reporter believes that it is safe to say that Rufus Scrimgeour lost the position the day that Harry Potter announced his support for Thicknesse._

_Many of us were shocked when the Boy-Who-Lived made an active choice in politics. The fifteen-year-old Boy Wonder had never shown any interest in the Ministry, but now he seems to have found his calling. His impassioned speeches on Pius Thicknesse’s genuine character and strong leadership captured the hearts of many wizards and witches. He did an excellent job of supporting Minister Thicknesse and this reporter expects to see more support for our Ministry from Harry Potter in the future._

_As for our lovely new Minister, he has shown his desire to lead Britain into prosperity by passing several Ministry Decrees that had been sitting gathering dust in the Wizengamot. Minister Thicknesse has thrown himself into his job with wholehearted determination. This reporter believes that he will prove to be one of our most hard working Ministers yet! The new Minister has already scheduled a conference where he will give a speech regarding the uneasy relations with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Minister Thicknesse has created several plans to restore peace within the Wizarding World that are just waiting to be put into action._

_Will Pius Thicknesse follow through on his promises to bring the Wizarding World back to its former glory? This reporter stands behind her Minister one hundred percent!_

_For more information on the Ministry Decrees passed by Minister Thicknesse, turn to page 5._

_For more information on Minister Pius Thicknesse and his plans for peace, turn to page 7._

Harry folded the Daily Prophet and placed it back on the table, ignoring the smirk on Voldemort’s face. He still wasn’t sure whether he had made the right decision in supporting Pius Thicknesse, but there was no going back now. 

“Well, things seem to be working out nicely,” Harry said as he put a few strawberries onto his plate. They were his favorite fruit; he loved their sweet taste. Though lately their deep red color had been unerringly reminding him of a certain Dark Lord’s eyes…

“Yes, I think so. This calls for a celebration, does it not?” Voldemort murmured, looking at Harry with obvious lust. Harry smiled back innocently.

“You’re right! Let’s call all of the Death Eaters here and have a ball at Malfoy Manor to celebrate your success!” Harry said and made to call one of the house elves to get invitations out to all of the Death Eaters. Voldemort was next to him in a second, pulling him out of the chair and pressing their bodies together, giving Harry a feel of just how excited he was.

“I think not,” he hissed into Harry’s ear. He never had gotten a chance to bend Harry over the kitchen table…

________________________________________________________________________

*Quote taken from _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_ and _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_


End file.
